


What Comes Next

by jessethejoyful



Series: After the Storm [1]
Category: Seven Kingdoms Trilogy - Kristin Cashore
Genre: Five Years Later, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14250873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessethejoyful/pseuds/jessethejoyful
Summary: Set five years after the events of Bitterblue, not everything is how it seems in Monsea. While the kingdoms are enjoying a time of tentative peace, something more sinister stirs in the shadows.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, and thanks for stopping in! This is my first real fic I've written in a very long time, but I adore the series and really wanted to put out what I wanted to see coming next for our Graceling Realm kids. I hope you guys enjoy!  
> If you want, check out my tumblr at jessethejoyful.tumblr.com - I hope to do some art to go along with this sooner or later.

When she stopped to think about it, Bitterblue supposed that it had only been a matter of time before there was another attempt on her life. 

It had been five years; five years since she had stepped out into the streets of Bitterblue City and altered her perspective as a ruler forever. The changes that had closed in around her during that year were still shaping her daily pursuits, were still causing problems and preventing her people from moving on. 

She had only wanted to see Saf. 

Word had come to her through the courier that connected her and Teddy, recently appointed as her minister of Education but still living in the shop in the city, that Saf had returned from his long trip to Lienid. Bitterblue had missed him terribly while he was gone to the Dells, and Lienid soon after that, and she was not about to wait until he could visit her in the castle to see him. 

That evening, she had dressed plainly in dark trousers and donned her violet hood, before slipping out past her Lienid Door Guard. They no longer worried about the queen on her late night jaunts, because more often than not, she brought Hava along with her, and Hava had always kept her safe. But Hava was already out in the city, tailing a black market merchant who had been claiming he was selling Dellian monster fur. Bitterblue was very interested to hear her findings, but she could not wait around all night for her to return and escort her to Teddy’s. 

So with her knives strapped to her ankles and her wrists, the queen set off into the night. 

Unlike the first time she had ventured out into her streets, Bitterblue was not afraid of the dark alleys or the nighttime noises, nor was she surprised by the number of people going about their business at such a late hour. A great many things did not require the light of day.

Very few people spared a gaze for the small girl making her way slowly but deliberately past houses and shops, her hood drawn up and her posture casual. Saf had taught her that troublemakers were far more likely to take interest in someone clearly in a hurry, so she meandered along, quiet but observant, and made it to the door of the shop a little after the bells had tolled midnight. 

She knocked twice, and then twice again, a rhythm she had agreed upon with her friends so they would know it was her. The door opened to admit her, and she dipped inside and heard it click shut behind her. And it was Saf, of course it was Saf, grinning wickedly down at her and practically exuding warmth under his steadily darkening tan. 

“You just couldn’t wait to see me, could you, Sparks?” he laughed, and she was laughing too, throwing her arms around him and squeezing tight, like she could hold him in place forever with only her grip. 

Bitterblue squeezed Saf’s hands when they separated, smiling up at him and pulling him with her into the living quarters behind the shop. “How was your trip? I want to hear everything.”

Teddy was seated at the dining table when they stepped through the door, poring over several different books that lay open before him. He looked up as they came in, and a grin spread slowly across his face. “I think that’s three silver, isn’t it?” Confused, Bitterblue looked at Saf. He rolled his two shades of purple eyes and produced the coins from a pocket, which he then lobbed unceremoniously at Teddy. Only after he had pocketed the coins did Teddy say, “He bet me three silver you’d be here before midnight. But since I just heard the bells, I’m three silver richer.” 

She tried to scowl, mustering up what she was certain must be a disdainful expression. “Is it polite to be making bets on your sovereign?” The three of them stared at each other in silence for a few moments, before all bursting into rather raucous laughter. 

Wiping tears from her eyes, Bitterblue went and kissed the top of Teddy’s curly head, glancing at the books he was studying. She sobered quickly when she realized two of them were printed copies of Leck’s journals, and dropped heavily into the chair beside her friend. “What are you up to, Teddy?” Saf settled into the seat across from her, pulling one of the books toward him and looking it over. 

“I’m still trying to learn the Dellian language,” he explained, “and I don’t really have much regularly written prose in their tongue, so I thought I’d use the journals to help me understand the sentence structure a little better.” He shoved a hand through his curls, which only helped to make them messier. “He might not have actually been born in the Dells, but I’m amazed at how well Leck retained their language, even after years of not using it in regular conversation once he was stuck back here.” 

She stared at the pages of one for a moment, before moving it carefully away from her and looking back at Saf and clearing her throat. “How - how was your trip?” He launched into a story about how he nearly fell off the ship he had traveled aboard, saved only by a rip in his trousers that had caught on a nail. Bitterblue was glad to laugh with her two friends, but she found her heart was no longer in it. 

As the hour grew later and she grew more tired, she finally pushed up from the table and declared it was time for her to return home. Saf tried to argue; he and Teddy both insisted that it was too late for her to be wandering around and that she should sleep here. The people who needed to know knew where she was. But she was not to be convinced, and after Teddy had asked her twice if she was wearing her knives, Bitterblue stepped out their door and started back to the castle. 

Not feeling particularly observant, tired and mostly happy as she was, Bitterblue wound her way through the scrawling streets. They were almost entirely emptied of people, save a few drunk revelers and one harried-looking scribe she actually recognized from her tower office, who blissfully hurried past her without noticing her presence. 

The turrets of the castle had just appeared over the rooftops when Bitterblue felt a crawling on the back of her neck, and whipped around just in time for a blade to slip by her. The shock had barely registered before her training kicked in; as the man stumbled, trying to overcorrect after his blade met only air, she crossed her arms over his wrist and twisted, using her controlled strength and his momentum to shove the hand gripping the dagger into the ground.

Bitterblue propelled herself so she knelt on his back, shoving her knee in between his shoulders and pressing his chest and his wrist hard onto the stones. He shouted and squirmed beneath her, attempting to muscle his way out of her grasp, but the angle at which she held his arm prevented his escape. She grabbed a fist full of his hair and turned his head to see his face, but she did not recognize him; only sunken eyes she could not see the colors of and a shadow of stubble across an unimpressive jaw. 

“Who are you?” she growled, pressing down on the side of the man’s head harder. He grit his teeth, no longer trying to fight against her grip, which she did not lessen. When he did not answer, she shoved his arm further up, sending pain through his upper body and causing him to cry out. “We can do this easy, or we can do this really hard. I was trained by the Lady Katsa on how to hurt men, and you’re no different. Tell me who you are, and you won’t have to experience that.” 

The laughter that gurgled out of his cramped throat surprised her. “Pain doesn’t matter,” he said, his words muffled as she continued to press on his face. “I’m already dead, and so are you.” This startled her enough that she loosened her hold, surging up and away from him. His body started to writhe before her, his mouth frothing suddenly with foam and his eyes rolling up in his head until she could see only the whites. An awful strangled sound came from his throat, and in a matter of seconds he was still, there in the street, dead before she could even comprehend what was happening.

Burning bile rose in the back of Bitterblue’s throat, her hands covering her mouth and her eyes flying wide. Resisting the urge to lose what little was in her stomach, the queen raced back to the castle, full of fear and anger, but mostly, burning with the desire to know what the dead man had meant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giddon returns to Bitterblue City.

A few pitiful hours of trying to sleep landed Bitterblue with a very early start to her day. She sent for her Monsean guard captain, a young man that Hava had recommended to her a few years earlier named Olan. Graced with the ability to see in the dark as he does in the day, he came to her as she poked at her breakfast in her sitting room. She was always somewhat on edge when she sat before this captain, as he was younger even than Giddon and nearly as handsome, with a strong jaw and one eye the color of warm honey, the other the color of the sky at sunset. 

“I found the man’s body where you said it would be, Lady Queen,” he said in his surprisingly soft voice, studying her as she gave up shoving her food around with her fork and put the utensil down beside her plate. “Pilfered by the time we got there, unfortunately, but we’re not certain he would have been carrying anything of import. He seemed the strung-out sort, like he’d been hired to do this by someone who didn’t care if he died.” 

Olan rubbed at the bridge of his nose, already looking tired despite it being only mid-morning. She related to this. “Madlen took a look at the body first thing this morning, and found that he’d swallowed some sort of poison, possibly something in a capsule in his mouth that he bit open when he realized he wasn’t going to be leaving your body on the street.” There was no mistaking the undercurrent of approval in the man’s tone, and Bitterblue felt a rush of warmth up her neck. “But this keeps us from making any great strides in identifying him, or who he might have worked for. I’m sorry, Lady Queen. I’ll keep searching and making inquiries, and hopefully I can uncover something for you.”

Bitterblue pulled at the neck of her shift, sighing heavily as she mulled it all over. Helda had come into the room sometime during the captain’s explanation, taking Bitterblue’s fork and clapping it back in the queen’s hand. “And in the meantime,” Helda scoffed, “I think two guards following the queen at all times will be good insurance that this doesn’t happen again.”

“Helda -” Bitterblue started, her protest formulating in her mouth, but the woman had already swept out of the room before she could get the words out. Shaking her head, she looked up at Olan again and managed a small smile. “Thank you for your quick work, Olan. I’m confident that if there’s something to be discovered, you’ll find it for me.” 

The captain bowed deeply to her at the waist and quit the room, leaving her to continue picking at her breakfast alone. 

She was exhausted and irritable, sore in places she had not realized she would be sore. And she was wounded; not in a physical way, but in the haunted way one felt after another person tried to end one’s life with no thought whatsoever. 

Not for the first time that week, Bitterblue found herself wishing with all her heart that her friends were not scattered to the wind, and instead back in her city. She wished their separate lives and struggles were bumping up against hers, giving her comfort with their closeness. 

But they were not, and she had no idea when they would be again; it had been six months since she had seen any of them. Po and Katsa had been the last to leave her, departing on a mostly diplomatic journey to the Dells. She did not expect to see them for at least another six months, if not more. Raffin and Bann had returned to Randa City, where Raffin’s father had recently fallen ill and called his son and heir back to his side. She had received no word from either of them, and did not know what to think. 

Giddon had been gone the longest; it had been over a year since she saw him last. He sent her letters frequently, kept her up to date on the affairs in Estill, where he still assisted with the aftermaths of the revolution that the Council had helped to organize. She missed him terribly, and tried to think of him as little as possible to keep that hurt away. But missing him was the kind of pain that demanded to be felt, and he was constantly on the edge of her mind. 

More with each passing day, Bitterblue was thankful that Hava always remained here with her, to organize and lead her spies and keep her company, to find solace in one another when the nightmares came too close. She acted as something of a handmaiden to Bitterblue, though Bitterblue never saw her as one, and tried to do the same for her sister in return. They brushed each other’s hair, ate together, sometimes just sat with their arms around one another to feel a kind touch from a loved one. Those closest to them knew of their relation, but otherwise it remained a secret; Hava remained firm in not wanting to be Bitterblue’s heir. 

Rubbing her aching wrist, Bitterblue found she could not really blame her. 

Finally Bitterblue decided she could avoid her tower no longer, dressing and departing her chambers with a slow step. The clerks in her lower offices greeted her with nods and quiet salutations, and she nodded at them in return before climbing the steps to her own office. 

She was met with her advisor Froggatt, always an obnoxiously early riser, filing papers away in the cabinet behind her desk. He turned when the door creaked open, and bowed before her. 

“Lady Queen!” he exclaimed, hurrying around the desk to her and looking worried. “Captain Olan told me about the attack this morning, are you quite alright?” He gripped her arms and looked her over, alarming her with his sudden closeness.

“I’m fine, Froggatt,” she muttered, shrugging out of his grasp and stepping around him, settling into her chair with a heavy sigh. 

Her advisor came and stood before her desk, putting his hands on his hips and frowning down at her. “Be it beyond me to chastise the queen,” he began, raising his bushy eyebrows at her, “but I thought the solitary nighttime ramblings had stopped. What if you had been seriously injured, or killed? Where would we be now?” 

Already, Bitterblue could feel the ache beginning behind her eyes. “They  _ had _ stopped,” she grumbled, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Last night was the first in over two years that I’ve stepped out alone. But as the queen,” she said acidly, finally raising her eyes to Froggatt’s, “I will sometimes do as I like, if you don’t mind.” 

She watched him squirm for a minute, visibly arguing with himself over whether to press the issue further. Finally, he adjusted his collar and gathered up a stack of papers, before sweeping out of the room without another word. Bitterblue leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, more than ready for the day to be over.

~*~

Around midday, Bitterblue left her office in search of lunch. Despite her blooming headache and tired eyes, she had gotten through a lot of paperwork and found herself on the other side of a stack, starving. 

She wandered to the kitchens, where she found Hava at a table in a far corner, snoozing quietly beside a half-eaten piece of pie. Bitterblue lowered into a seat beside her, and the sound of her chair scraping sent Hava shooting upright. 

Her wide copper eyes took a moment to absorb the queen’s presence. “Bitterblue,” she said finally, smiling awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep…” Hava looked at the pie beside her like she could not believe it was still there. Bitterblue reached over and squeezed her sister’s hand, raising her eyebrows. 

“You work too hard,” Bitterblue chided, “and at odd hours. I wouldn’t be surprised to find you tomorrow in a corridor, keeled over for a good afternoon nap.” Hava giggled softly at this, squeezing Bitterblue’s hand in return before releasing it and launching into a long stretch.

At that moment, Bitterblue’s Graceling chef Jass came over, fluttering around the two girls before disappearing back into the crowd of cooks. His Grace was rather fitting to his position, able to discern from a person’s look and smell what they would most like to eat. Bitterblue often found it rather nice to be told what she wanted, rather than having to decide for herself. 

Over a very satisfying meal of cheesy garlic knots and a pile of steaming vegetables, Hava told Bitterblue about the discoveries of her latest outing. 

“I watched an exchange he had with a lesser lord,” Hava said around a mouthful of bread. “He produced all sorts of paperwork that claimed his wares were genuine, official documents from the Dellian court that he was allowed to sell these products in Monsea. Which,” Hava said dryly, “was all a complete farce, since you and I both know they have certified nothing of the sort.”

Bitterblue finished chewing before asking, “Were the products genuine, though? Did you see any of the fur?” 

Hava snorted. “I did. After meeting Lady Fire, I could tell these were just dyed. And not well, either, but the buyer didn’t know that. Poor sod, he lost a good chunk of his fortune to this man. I couldn’t very well intervene and start accusing the seller of being a fraud.” 

“I’d rather you be safe, yes,” Bitterblue agreed, sipping from her mug of steaming tea. “If you’ll carry it to Captain Olan, I’ll sign off orders that he have the merchant’s home raided and his licenses repealed. Some hefty fines will help him to think harder about what he’s selling to people - not that he’ll ever sell in Monsea again.” 

The girls finished their food in comfortable silence, watching the bustle of the kitchens as the cooks prepped for dinner. They left arm in arm, meandering slowly through the corridors, but went their separate ways when they came to the door of Bitterblue’s offices. Hava hurried off to report to Helda, while Bitterblue steeled herself for several more hours of reading and signing things. 

Before she could open the door, it swung out toward her and sent her scrambling back to avoid getting hit. Giddon looked nearly as shocked to see her as she was him, almost knocking her over in his exit. 

“Lady Queen!” he exclaimed, reaching out to steady her. “Are you alright? Did the door get you?” 

“N-no,” Bitterblue stammered, flustered now that she had fully registered who stood between her and her office. As if it were possible, Giddon seemed like he had gotten taller, and more pleasantly broad. His beard was certainly thicker and longer, though still well-trimmed. “I - no, I'm fine! Giddon, I didn't realize you were coming!” 

The sheepish smile her friend directed down at her nearly took out her knees. “I wanted to surprise you, Lady Queen. Not by nearly taking you out with your door, but,” he laughed, “I suppose it all amounts to the same thing. I do seem to be blocking your door.” He stepped out quickly toward her, allowing the nervous-looking scribe waiting behind him to slip out the door and disappear down the hall, while she tried not to trip over herself as Giddon came closer. “I know you were just coming back from lunch, but would you care to take a walk? I'm sure your staff won't mind if you're gone for a short while longer.”

“Yes, alright,” she breathed, taking the arm he offered her and letting him lead her away. “How was Estill? I imagine if you're here, then things must be going well.”

“They were, Lady Queen. The constitution that was put in place has been more or less successful in gaining the popular opinion of the citizens, and the new king and the elected officials are getting a great deal done as to righting the wrongs of Thigpen. I was mostly there to represent the Council, and answer any questions levied about our current plans.” Bitterblue listened, entranced as she always was by the deep tones in Giddon’s voice, but also by the contents of his tale. 

“Current plans?” she quipped, looking up at him with a raised brow. “Does the Council have any current plans?” 

Giddon snorted, turning them down another corridor, one that lead to the gardens. “I do wish I knew enough to tell you, Lady Queen. With Katsa and Po gone to the Dells, we've all been sort of on standby. The seven kingdoms are in a tentative peace right now, and not even those two are ready to start stirring up more trouble just yet.” 

She chuckled softly. “Only because they're not here to defend themselves, it's fair to point out that they don't always go actively seeking trouble; it seems drawn to them much of the time, even if they do seem to horribly enjoy the drama of it.” They stepped together out into the mid-afternoon sunlight, Bitterblue turning her face toward the warmth. 

In the gardens, there were very few guards, two at each of the two doorways, as well as the two trying to look nonchalant as they tailed the queen and her companion. Giddon continued to lead Bitterblue among the flowers and high hedges, and her tails seemed content to linger behind and chat with the garden guards; Giddon was well-liked and trusted by all in the castle who knew him.

Bitterblue also rather liked what came next, as they disappeared from the view of the guards behind a particularly tall, thick shrubbery. She crushed herself against Giddon’s chest as his arms came tight around her and his face pressed to the top her head. She lingered and breathed him in, the smells of dust and pine swirling around her, as well as something unnamed that was just Giddon.

“Bitterblue,” he murmured, lifting his head as she pulled back to look up at him. And then she was kissing him, and he was kissing her, strong arms drawing her closer and keeping her rooted to the earth as he always did. Kissing him made her breathless; she never wanted it to end, though it always did, rather sooner than she would like. 

When their lips separated, she smiled at him brightly, her eyes welling with tears she had not realized had risen to the surface. “I missed you,” she blubbered, feeling the stress of the night before and more than a year of longing hit her hard in the chest. “I know you had to be gone, but I missed you.” 

His warm brown eyes, normally full of such humor, were sober as he took her in. “I missed you as well. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think about returning here to you. If I'd had the time, I would have sent you a letter for every day I was gone, even if your staff would have gotten tired of delivering them.” She laughed softly at this, shoving the heels of her hands into her eyes and shaking her head. 

“I'm just being silly,” she grumbled. “But I'm so glad you've returned.”

Giddon frowned, gently taking her hands away from her eyes and holding them. “There's something else, isn't there? You're not usually so prone to tears.” 

She hesitated a moment, before remembering the promise she had made to him once to always tell him the truth. “I was attacked last night on my way in from visiting Teddy and Saf,” she said simply. “I grappled him to the ground and kept him from his weapon, but - he had some kind of poison capsule in his mouth, and he died within seconds of my disarming him.” 

Giddon’s expression grew from amazed to horrified the more she spoke. “You're not  _ hurt, _ are you?” He held her at arm's length and observed her more closely, though there would be nothing to see past her long-sleeved, high-neck gown. 

“No, he thankfully missed,” she said reassuringly, then squeaked in surprise as Giddon pulled her in tightly once again. “I swear it, I'm alright!” 

Giddon’s chest vibrated pleasantly against her face as he said, “You're lucky you weren't hurt.” 

She pulled back and fixed him with a withering glare. “ _ Luck  _ had nothing to do with it. I disarmed him, didn't I? I'd say I did a rather good job of dealing with this most recent attempt on my life.”

Her friend stared down at her, clearly amazed by this sudden outburst. “Of course you did,” he said, already sounding sorry. “I didn't mean that you weren't capable of handling yourself; I just fear you facing unfair odds, out on your own.” 

Bitterblue reached up and rubbed Giddon’s arms, her smile returning at the corners of her mouth. “I know you just worry about me. I appreciate it. Trust me when I say I'm not in a hurry to experience that again. Until I figure out what this was about, I plan to be extra cautious.”

Giddon took her face in his hands and pulled her lips to his, his kiss the gentlest touch. “Until  _ we _ figure it out.” The warmth in Bitterblue’s cheeks was from more than just the sun, and she leaned up to kiss him again. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hava is attacked; Bitterblue and Giddon's relationship is explored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to make a few fixes to the first two parts, of things I missed editing before posting.

Before dinner, Bitterblue wrote a ciphered note to Teddy and Saf, explaining quickly about the attack so they would be on their guard. It continued to rankle at her, knowing nothing about who had ordered the attack, or why. 

She did not enjoy not knowing things. 

It was a welcome distraction to have Giddon with her, eating together quietly in her dining room. After being stripped of all his lands and titles in the Middluns - and his home burnt to the ground, for good measure - Giddon had given himself, body and soul, to the use of the Council, a ragtag bunch of crackpots who ran around the seven kingdoms fixing and making messes, or so Bitterblue saw it. In the months after Randa’s harsh punishment for Giddon’s involvement with the Council, he seemed broken at times, prone sometimes to short periods of despair that he would try to take alone in his rooms. Bitterblue always made sure to go and keep him company - whether he wanted it or not. It was during one of those spells that she had kissed him for the first time. 

Slowly, he had returned to his friends, and Bitterblue especially - perhaps not whole, but more of himself. Bitterblue discovered he very much liked kissing her, as she did him. 

She was thankful he was so adept at reading her own varying moods, knowing when she would welcome the soft patter of his conversation, or when she would rather sit in companionable silence. 

Tonight, she listened to him talk about Estill, and the tentative feelings the Council was sensing from King Murgon of Sunder, another of the problematic kings. 

“Maybe he's afraid of losing the throne,” Giddon mused, waving his fork absently through the air, “but it seems like he's been on his best behavior recently, as have the others. Thankfully we've four countries we don't have to worry about, and the Dells to the east - it's so strange to have this peace, even if it isn't permanent.” 

“What of Randa?” Bitterblue asked worriedly. “I haven't heard a thing from Raffin or Bann since their departure. Surely you have some news?” 

Giddon’s frown deepened. “None of us have heard from them either. Katsa wasn't terribly worried when she and Po left, but - you know Katsa. No problem is too great." They both snorted softly into their plates, empty now of food. But they remained at the table, clasped hands resting underneath on Bitterblue’s knee. His thumb stroked slowly across the back of her hand while they chatted, and she was acutely aware of the movement, so much that she found it rather hard to focus on the conversation.

Both of them nearly leapt from their skins as the door banged open to reveal Hava, dripping wet and heavily out of breath. 

“Hava!” Bitterblue cried, pushing to her feet and hurrying across the room to her sister. “What - what happened?” The Graceling came fully into the room and closed the door before speaking, mismatched red eyes wide in a pale face. She had not acknowledged Giddon, waiting nearby with a politely alarmed expression; Bitterblue was not even sure her sister saw her, as she thumped heavily against the door and slid part of the way down. 

It took Hava a few moments to find her voice, following several hard swallows. “I was..  following another black market lord, the one trying to sell Leck’s pieces, the things Saf has been trying to recover…” Another swallow. “We were along the river in the east city… I had hidden beside a shop, to look like a stack of boxes…” She paused, rubbing at her face and shaking now, so that Bitterblue put her arm around the soaking girl and looked at Giddon in alarm. “He disappeared into another shop, and I was going to wait for him… but another man I didn't recognize came along, and made this big show of looking around, like he was searching for something and then he came right over to me, smiled, picked me up, and threw me like I weighed nothing into the river.” This end of Hava’s story came out in a breathy rush, before she buried her face in her hands. 

Bitterblue was boggled. “Was he a Graceling?” she said in wonder, rubbing her hand up and down Hava’s arm. “Po was able to detect you while you were hiding with his Grace… this could be something similar.” 

Hava nodded her head miserably, taking her hands away from her face after pressing roughly against her eyes. “I saw his eyes - one was a dusky pink, the other a forest green. He got rather close to me before launching me into the water.” 

“Oh, love.” Bitterblue gave her crying sister a proper hug, squeezing her tightly, then gently took her hand and led her to the next room. “Let's get you a bath to warm you up.” 

Giddon left, and Helda came and helped Bitterblue draw the warm water, and the queen sat on the edge of her own sunken tub and combed Hava’s hair, trying to provide some comfort to the frightened Graceling. The shaking subsided slowly, as did the tears, but she was quiet for the rest of the evening. She eventually fell asleep in Bitterblue’s bed, bundled in a huge comforter, but the queen was too worried to sleep. 

Wrapped in a loose robe, Bitterblue slipped out past her guard with a nod and padded through the quiet corridors. She ducked into a hidden passage to avoid the potentially curious eyes of onlookers, disguised behind one of her father's hangings, depicting a lush green riverbank and the alarmingly colored wildlife on its shores. Following the pattern of the secret passages behind the beautiful hangings, Bitterblue had found this one a few years earlier to lead to the back of a closet in a set of seemingly unimportant rooms - until she had realized this particular set of rooms was the one Giddon normally used during his time at her court. 

She reached the end of the tunnel and knocked at the closet door, locked with a key only she and Giddon had copies of. It was only a few moments before she heard the muted click and the door opened, Giddon grinning at her from among his hanging tunics. 

“Lady Queen,” he drawled, leaning toward her. “What kind of hour do you call this?”

She wrinkled her nose at him and started to turn back down the tunnel. “I'll just go then, I don't mean to interrupt -" She did not finish as his hand closed around her arm and pulled her to him, their lips and bodies flush together. When they broke apart, she muttered, “That's what I thought,” and pushed past him, out of his closet and into his bedroom.

Giddon locked the passage door and stepped out after her, looking at her softly as she hovered in the middle of his floor, lost. A moment's hesitation passed before he came to her, folding her into his arms and somehow anchoring her once again. 

“How is Hava?” Giddon was one of the few who knew of Bitterblue and Hava’s true relationship. 

“Frightened still, but asleep. She sleeps like the dead - it'll be tomorrow before she'll be ready to talk again.” She looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest, as he looked back down at her and smiled comfortingly. 

“Then we'll talk to her more tomorrow, and she'll be feeling better and so will you,” he said in an affirming tone, dropping his head to press a kiss to her brow. 

She used her hand to stop him from pulling away, pressing from the back of his neck so his lips came down to meet hers. He gathered her close, strong arms circling her waist. It was like a drug, his kiss, like the drugs Madlen had told her about that could make a person feel as light as a feather, as free as the wind. 

The same as a lover as he was a friend, Giddon was warm and attentive, never pushing her, always ensuring she was comfortable and happy, and taking everything she gave him like a gift of the purest Lienid gold. When they had first come together in this way, it had been all at her urging. They had spent many quiet evenings together, holded up in her rooms, exchanging shallow kisses among conversations, but never progressing further. 

Bitterblue came to discover that when it came to Giddon, she always wanted more. But she often found him impossible to read, his expressions neutral and dear, and his voice always calm, focused. They had spent the better part of an afternoon wrapped around one another, heavy breaths and chapped lips, coming closer and closer until Bitterblue was practically on top of him. 

She had reached for the clasps of his tunic, and he grabbed her hands, closing off their kiss and looking at her with unease in his face. 

“Bitterblue,” he murmured, lowering her hands away from his chest. “I’m not sure this is the best idea. Perhaps we should - stop.” She fell back, still partially perched in his lap, her chest rising and falling quickly. 

“I don’t want to stop,” she said in a husky voice she was not entirely certain belonged to her. “And I don’t believe that you want to either.” Leaning toward his face again, her lips pressing where his beard became skin, she hummed, “You and your gentlemanly concern.” 

“Lady Queen…” 

Fed up now, Bitterblue sat up and glared at him, her lower lip jutting out against her will. “When you use my title like that, you don’t know how it maroons me,” she said roughly, pushing to her feet and going a few steps away from him. “It doesn’t matter that I’m the queen. I’m not  _ your _ queen - you’re not even Monsean. Can we not just leave that behind and be us? Be together?”

She turned to him and watched him rub his red face, crossing one of his legs over the other. She was powerless to stop the wicked grin that rose in her own face, one of her hands on her hip. “And don’t try to pretend like you don’t want to. You won’t be able to convince me, looking like that.” She returned to him, dropping to her knees beside the sofa and gently taking one of his big, perfect hands. Lifted it to her lips, kissed it softly. And then she was up, as he raised her to his face again, pulled at the laces of her bodice. Friends became lovers, and it was gentle and lovely and more than she ever could have imagined. 

Now, in his rooms, Bitterblue rubbed her hand across the hair of his chest, curled up against him as he snoozed. She liked to watch the way the hairs under his nose moved when he breathed. She liked the way it felt to doze in his arms, and she especially liked the feeling of him beneath her, all hard contours and sinew - and moles. He was covered in them, like freckles, and she had found him to be very self-conscious about them at the beginning, when she first saw under his clothes. 

“I look diseased,” he’d muttered, when she asked about them. “They’re hereditary. I’m convinced my father was more moles than skin.” Leaning over him in the bed, Bitterblue had dropped down and closed her lips over a patch just above his belly button, which silenced him and brought him back to the task at hand. 

Finally tired enough for sleep, Bitterblue burrowed against her companion and fell blissfully into unconsciousness. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone enjoys some free time together.

For weeks, there was nothing. No new attacks, no strange stories, and no progress on finding the pink and green-eyed Graceling. Bitterblue thought it would be easy to find a man with such strange eyes. 

That was clearly not the case. 

She met with Teddy, about the possibility of building another school in the west part of Bitterblue City to accommodate the swelling population there. Saf came with him, and the three sat comfortably at a table in the gardens.

“There’s not technically any money for it,” Bitterblue grumbled, shuffling through the stack of papers she had brought with her from the offices. She showed one to Teddy, who frowned as he leaned over it. “But I’m going to finding some. I’m certain we can pull from other funds and make it happen.” 

Teddy beamed at her, tapping his finger on the table. “I’m ever so grateful for your dedication to this, Lady Queen,” he said brightly. “Monsea could not ask for a better champion for their education.” 

“If I was truly their champion,” she griped, “I wouldn’t have spent so many years ignoring what was just under my nose.” 

Saf scoffed, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms. “That wasn’t your fault,” he returned. “Your advisors were manipulating you. Even while they were manipulating you, you continued to push and look for the truth. You’re not to blame for their abuse.” Bitterblue stared at him, amazed and touched by his support, even if it was put forth in such a gruff way. 

“Well, I’ll continue to try my best.” 

A quick smile. “I know you will.” Saf stretched languidly, his long body nearly falling out of his seat before he pushed quickly to his feet. “All done? I’m starving. We’ve been at this all afternoon, and paper-pushing is tiring work.” 

This made Teddy snicker. “You didn’t do a thing, Sapphire. You just watched us push paper and complained about it.”  Under the pretext of a glare, Saf leaned down over Teddy and then snuck a kiss onto his nose. “That doesn’t make it any less true.” Bitterblue watched them, enjoying as she always did the dynamic between these two very different men. 

“You’re welcome to join us,” she said, standing as well and fixing the stack of papers she kept for herself, while Teddy took the other and stowed it in his messenger bag. “I can stuff you both and send you rolling back to the shop.” Saf looked at Teddy with pleading eyes, like a child asking a parent for permission. Teddy seemed to mull it over, clearly stretching the moment for dramatic effect. 

“I don’t see why not,” he said finally, then chuckled as Saf yanked him to his feet and slung an arm around his shoulders. “After you, Lady Queen.” 

Dinner that evening was a louder affair than normal, with these two additions as well as Giddon, Hava, and Helda, who seemed to get a lot of joy from lamenting how Teddy severely needed a haircut. 

“You look like a hooligan more than a minister,” she said imperiously, lifting a hand to pull on a chunk of his curls. 

“Until our queen’s promotion, I  _ was _ a hooligan,” he replied wickedly, “and I will probably become one again, after she grows tired of me.” 

“I will never grow tired of you,” Bitterblue said sincerely, smiling softly at her friend across the wide table. “Not of any of you. Except maybe Saf; he’s a real handful.” Everyone laughed, even the Graceling in question, shooting a hand gesture at her that earned him a reproachful slap on the arm from Teddy and a glare from Giddon, who had never really grown to like Saf much as it was. 

“Whatever you say,  _ Lady Queen _ ,” Saf goaded, his tone tinged with playful sarcasm. “I know that I’m a delight, as do the lot of you.” 

“A delightful idiot,” Hava supplied, resulting in another round of laughter at Saf’s expense, who had no further defenses in his favor, and just attacked his food again with a wide grin. 

They were all comfortable and content, with Helda leaving them shortly after their meal to “put herself to bed at a decent hour, for once.” Teddy and Saf were preparing to return to the city, when Teddy turned to Bitterblue with an easy smile.

“Why don’t you all come with us?” he asked, hooking his arm with Saf to keep him from jogging out the door. “We thought we might go to a story room for the evening, drink and forget Saf’s woes.” 

“What about my woes?” Saf questioned, raising one of his almost blonde eyebrows.

Teddy patted his arm. “We’re going to drink them away, dear.” 

Snickering, Bitterblue looked to Giddon, who was gaping at Saf and Teddy with his mouth slightly open, a man with sudden realization written across his face. “How about it, Giddon? Hava?” She nudged Giddon’s arm, bringing him back to the conversation. Her sister was already swinging on her cloak, laughing at Saf as he whined to Teddy for his teasing. 

“Ah?” Giddon blinked at her, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh! Alright, let’s go.” 

After Bitterblue had gone to change from her gown to trousers and don her purple hood, the party left the castle and meandered into the city, following the two who apparently knew where they were going. The evening air was warm, the sun not fully down and the air retaining that still, peaceful quality of late summer. The streets were busy but not crowded, and with her arm held close by Giddon, Bitterblue could not remember a time she’d been this happy for a long while. 

Inside the story room, it  _ was _ crowded, with several people even perched on the bar, as there were very few other places to sit. The fabler stood on the bar as well, striding back and forth as he spun a tale, avoiding drinks with graceful ease. 

A few people greeted Teddy as the party wove their way through the masses, somehow finding an empty table in the very back corner of the room. Saf grabbed a chair from another table and shoved it in between Teddy and Bitterblue, who scooted her chair closer to Giddon and stuck her tongue out at the Graceling. 

The story being told was one she had heard before, about the Dells - though when she had first heard it, she had been under the impression that it was fictional. Now, after having visited the land herself, she found the story lacking in sufficient detail to describe the beauty that was the Dells. But she enjoyed the story nonetheless, sipping at the warm cider that was placed before her by Hava and taking in the easy feeling of being surrounded by her friends and others at various levels of drunkenness. 

“This story doesn’t do the Dells justice,” Saf declared, voicing her thoughts. Unlike Bitterblue, however, he was prepared to do something about it; after clunking his drink onto the table, he surged up, swam quickly through the crowd, and vaulted onto the bar, surprising the speaker enough that he nearly toppled over. 

Teddy groaned. “This’ll be good.”

“I don’t know about any of you,” Saf began, spreading his arms to the room at large, which had quieted down as this unfamiliar Lienid-looking fellow took over the story, “but I’ve been to the land in this story! As many of you know by now, there  _ is _ a land to the east, where the rivers jump into the sky and creatures of the strangest colors imaginable roam the land, attempting to lure the minds of those who cross their paths, where their medical knowledge and artistry and technology far surpass our own!” Saf paused and took a breath, and the room breathed with him. “But it’s so much more than this tale describes, my friends. Long ago, their lands were torn asunder by war and suspicion and cruelty, much as the seven kingdoms have been for as long as any of us can remember. But now, they’re lead by a king who is kind and just, much as the great and venerable queen is in Monsea, or the Lienid king who is her uncle.” Bitterblue shook her head, laughing softly into her drink. 

“And there are these strange monsters you hear of, and the one living human who is also called a monster, which in their language means something very different than in ours. All of them possess these odd powers of mind, but she is not venomous like old stories spread by a madman would have you believe. Animals are animals, but Lady Fire, the only living human monster in all the world, is lovely and gentle, and would never use her powers to harm another, as that man did. She and the Dellian royal family treats all visitors to their land, myself included, with respect and genuine curiosity for a culture vastly different from their own.”

“Don’t be afraid of these foreign visitors, or the magic that their lands hold; welcome them, and experience something that is wonderful and mysterious, and ultimately good for the rest of us, as they are excellent allies and great friends to have.” Satisfied he’d done what he intended, Saf dropped from the bar once more to an emphatic round of applause, a few people clapping him on the shoulder as he wormed his way back to their table. Before he fell back into his seat, he took Teddy’s face in his hands and pressed their lips together. Both of their faces were bright red as the previous storyteller resumed, off on a different tale now. 

“Kind and venerable, hm?” Bitterblue mused, leaning dramatically against Saf’s shoulder. 

“I only meant of it King Ror,” Saf teased, pushing her off of him, “but it occurred to me at the last second I should mention you first, in a crowd of Monseans who all must love their queen.” She giggled, sitting upright.

“That was an impressive outburst,” Teddy said, squeezing Saf’s hand atop the table. “You’re not usually so forthcoming.” Saf shrugged nonchalantly, but his face was still red, and everyone resolved to leave him alone for a bit while he recovered his composure. 

Giddon spoke quietly in Bitterblue’s ear, leaning in so she could rest against him. “I might start trying to frequent places like this more,” he said, wrapping his arm close around her shoulders. “I bet there are people in this room who know our suspicious Graceling.” 

She hummed for a moment, thoughtful. “Yes, I’m sure there are. But if the wrong people start asking too many questions, he might forever evade our grasp. And like it or not, you’re a bit too well-known as a companion of Po, and thus bear a link directly to me.” She tilted her head up to look at him. “But I believe in your masterful skills in sleuthing, so I’ll leave the judgement of it up to you.” He kissed her forehead before she looked forward again, glad to be able to cuddle to his chest and not worry who saw. 

But Saf’s bold speech had earned their table a fair amount of attention, enough people wandering over to question the Graceling and his companions that Bitterblue grew uncomfortable, and sank into her hood. While it was unlikely any of the people in the room had been before the queen before, it was not impossible. The more eyes on them, the more the chance grew that she would be recognized. 

“Perhaps it’s time we returned,” Bitterblue murmured to Giddon and Hava, as the tenth or so person approached them, full of curiosity. They agreed softly, and joined her when she stood. Teddy and Saf looked at them, fully understanding the reason for their early departure. 

“Sorry, Sparks,” Saf said, his face reddening again, and she beamed at him.

“I’m not. You did exactly what I would have done, were I anybody else.” She ruffled his and Teddy’s hair before shuffling around their chairs and leading the other two out into the street again. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitterblue and Giddon receive some unexpected news.

When Giddon joined her for breakfast a few days later, Bitterblue knew immediately something was wrong. Wearing an expression of extreme concern, Giddon dropped into the seat beside her and squeezed her hand, hard. 

“What is it?” she breathed, turning and taking both of his hands. “What's happened?” 

He took a few breaths before responding, clearly trying to organize his thoughts. “I finally received word from Bann this morning. King Randa is dead.” 

Bitterblue’s stomach dropped into the floor, her eyes flying wide at this surprising news. “Randa - dead? What could possibly - ?” She cut off her own question, remembering that Raffin had been called away was because Randa was ailing under a sickness. “Balls. I didn't realize it was so dire. Poor Raffin!”

Shoving a hand through his hair, Giddon smiled ruefully. “Indeed. Poor Raffin - whose coronation will be a month from now, to which we are all cordially invited.” He pulled a piece of parchment from his tunic and laid it out on the table, where it sat, staring at the two bewildered friends of the future king of the Middluns.  

“Oh. We'll have to go then, won't we? And soon. A month isn't long when trying to drag the entourage it requires for me to travel.” Bitterblue stopped in her own avalanche of thoughts to squeeze Giddon’s hands again. “I'm sorry. Are you alright? He was your king.”

He looked at her with a bemused expression and spoke softly, frankly. “He stopped being my king when he burnt my family's legacy to the ground.” 

She leaned forward, pushing the hair from his forehead to press her lips softly there. “I have to go inform my people. There will be endless preparations to be made.” She paused, biting her lip for a moment. “I mean, unless you wanted to ride on ahead yourself, it'll take you far less time…” 

Giddon quieted her concerns with a sweet kiss. “I won't go on without you. Go on and get things moving - I'm going to see about sending word to Katsa and Po.” 

“I hadn't even thought about that! What a time for this to have happened.” She kissed him again, quickly, before hurrying out with a piece of toast hastily shoved in her mouth. 

What a time, indeed. Bitterblue was shocked, to say the least, at this most unexpected turn of events. She would never say she was grateful for someone's death, but thought it would be worse if she did not admit to herself that Randa was not a kind ruler, and that the Middluns, as well as all the seven kingdoms and their eastern friends, would be better off with Raffin at its helm. 

She did sympathize with him, however; she felt a nervous flutter for them when she thought of how Raffin and Bann both must be feeling about the future. Apprehensive, certainly; heartbroken, perhaps, if the administration surrounding the Middluns court did not bear an open mind.

Her own heart hardened into a fist; she would do whatever she had to do to help her two friends, as they had helped her in the past.

In her tower office, her advisors were already milling about: Froggatt, tireless and exhausting to her when he wanted to be; Sabel, quiet-voiced but incredibly smart, with one eye the color of wheat and the other of lilacs, and the odd Grace of being able to carry a seemingly limitless number of items without dropping a one; Timon, a bookkeeper that had come from one of the outer holdings of Monsea and served also as her secretary; and Liene, a brusque woman well into her sixties that could easily keep pace with all of them, even the queen when she wanted to. Bitterblue had picked her advisors herself, after the devolution of her last team. They had all proved alarmingly efficient, and well-equipped to handle the headaches of the queen’s offices, as they had all been pushing paper for years in different capacities - Froggatt had worked in the lower offices for as long as Bitterblue could remember.

They greeted her with varying levels of enthusiasm. “Lady Queen,” Timon began, dipping into a bow before starting across the room to her, “if you've a moment this morning, I'd like to -"

Bitterblue lifted her hand to halt his request, making the others look to her as he fell silent. “I'm sorry, Timon, but today is about to take a very different turn for us all. King Randa of the Middluns is dead.” She looked around the room, taking in their reactions. Shock was dominant, mouths hanging open and eyes growing wide. 

“Dead!” Sabel exclaimed, placing the stack of papers she held on a desk. “You're certain, Lady Queen?” 

“Quite so. Giddon received word from the Middluns just this morning, as well as mine and his invitations to the coronation of Prince Raffin, a month from now.” 

This declaration launched a flurry of movement. Did she realize the extensive planning and time it took to arrange a royal escort? She assured them she did, which was why they were the first she had spoken to of it this morning. Did she consider how much paperwork was bound to pile up in her lengthy absence? She was confident in the abilities of her advisors and clerks to keep things running smoothly. 

“Enough!” she snapped finally, as Froggatt opened his mouth with another argument. “I will be attending the coronation in a month's time, so begin the preparations so we'll be ready to depart and arrive on time. If you don't mind!” At her last clipped sentence, Froggatt swept from the room, presumably to do what she ordered in the grumpiest manner possible. 

More paperwork than she had seen in the last month flew across her desk that day, approvals for this and that, confirmations of the date and place of the ceremony, supply lists that she was not certain she really needed to see, but saw nonetheless. 

At the end of the day, hand cramping and vision blurry, Bitterblue returned to her rooms and collapsed onto her couch, still in her court dress. This was where Helda found her, an hour or more later, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as she snoozed. She scoffed and roused the queen with an affectionate shove of her arm, sending her scrambling to her feet and swearing she'd been awake the whole time. 

“Honestly,” Helda clucked, starting at the ties of Bitterblue's dress in the back, “you've gone and wrinkled this now, Lady Queen, and made my job that much harder."

“I'm sorry, Helda,” Bitterblue yawned, allowing her caretaker to gruffly extract her from the gown. “I'm just ever so tired. I'm assuming you heard the news?”

“Oh, yes,” Helda said, stopping to let Bitterblue step out of the dress and holding it up, scanning it for damage. “The castle is positively buzzing, and Giddon came to me to discuss the best way of contacting our lady and her prince, to which I told him we might as well leave alone - by the time a message is to reach them, they'll likely already be on their way back.” 

Bitterblue sighed. “I know Katsa would like to be there for Raff, though, and he’d be happier to have her around. But there's really nothing to be done for it, I suppose.” Helda grunted before shuffling out of the room, reminding Bitterblue over her shoulder that dinner waited for her.

~*~

A week later, the night before they were to depart for the Middluns, Giddon and Bitterblue were curled up in her bed, talking in hushed voices before sleeping, trying not to think of the arduous ride that awaited them the next day. 

“Sabel is coming with us,” Bitterblue told him, speaking into his chest, “and Helda and Hava, of course. My Graced guards, and another squadron of twenty soldiers. We're going to be a horribly cumbersome traveling party.”

Giddon twisted a hand in her long, unruly hair, saying seriously, “Your safety is of the utmost importance, Bitterblue. Everyone just wants to ensure the seven kingdoms doesn't lose two rulers in a short amount of time.” 

“Oh, is  _ that  _ all?” she said dryly, looking up at him and perching her chin on his stomach. “And here I thought it was concern for me, as myself.” 

He rolled his eyes at her good-naturedly, a soft snort emitting from his nose. “You know what I mean. Of course I want you safe, as yourself.” He leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead before dropping back against the plush pillows and closing his eyes. “And now, I want to sleep.” His arm lifted up as if on a switch, and she crawled up to cuddle close to his side, resting her face against his chest. 

She didn’t sleep much. How could she be expected to, with everything that would be happening in the coming days? When Giddon finally rolled out of bed, she’d already bathed, eaten, and dressed in a simple gown, with her hair carefully braided into two massive buns that would save her from some suffering in the heat. He wandered over and kissed her neck, then hurried out to find a bath and breakfast for himself. 

It wasn’t long before everything was ready and waiting in the castle’s courtyard. 

Bitterblue’s trio of advisors that were to remain stood out in the morning air with them, watching the party prepare with varying expressions of stress. “Do take care of the queen,” Froggatt said imperiously to one of the guards, making Bitterblue roll her eyes as she clambered into the carriage where she, Giddon, Hava, and Helda were to sit and suffer together, in style. Several of the servants had come out as well to bid the queen safe journey, and to them she waved at as the carriage started out of the courtyard. 

As they left the castle behind, Bitterblue sat back in the plush seat and found Giddon’s hand, holding tight for reassurance. Helda already had her knitting out and seemed to be perfectly at peace and Hava fell asleep almost immediately, but Bitterblue was wound as tight as a sailor’s knot. It had been years since she’d ventured from the castle like this, and she was on edge. But there was nothing to be done but sink into the cushions and close her eyes, letting the rocking of the carriage lull her into some semblance of calm. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitterblue travels to the capital city of the Middluns for Raffin's coronation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm looking for people to possibly help me beta chapters, cause it'd be super awesome to have someone to run ideas by and whatnot before posting. If you might be interested, send me an ask on my tumblr at http://jessethejoyful.tumblr.com/ :)

Bitterblue found it hard to settle into a routine during their week on the road. They stopped several times throughout each day, and each day Bitterblue grew more weary of the constant bumping and grinding inside the carriage.

She asked for a horse after lunch the third day, and found herself much more at ease in the saddle rather than in the stifling carriage. Giddon and Hava both joined her; she could tell it made them happier as well. It was much nicer to see the land and the fields they passed in the open air, and she fell into an easy humor with her guards and her friends. Sabel joined them after a bit, and Bitterblue discovered the woman had a love for horses, had grown up surrounded by them and was an excellent rider. Further surprises from her Graced advisor.

Sore and aching from the road, they were all glad when the capital city of the Middluns finally came into view on the evening of the seventh day. As they entered the castle’s courtyard, Bitterblue wasn’t sure she’d ever been more thankful for the ground. She slid off her horse for the final time and stretched with little shame, trying to ease the pinching in her muscles, but straightened when there was a clearing of a throat behind her. There was Bann, smiling like he’d just heard a good joke and couldn’t contain his grin.

“Lady Queen,” he said in his rumbling tones, dropping into a bow before her. “Thank you all for coming. If you’d all like to come in and rest up and wash, dinner is set to be served in an hour.”

“Fantastic,” Bitterblue replied, with humor in her own voice, before she threw her arms around her massive friend. “How’s Raff?”

“Ah - he’ll be with us for dinner. He’ll be so glad to see you all.” Bann went to clap Giddon on the back, and Bitterblue was whisked away by a steward, so she didn’t have time to question him further.

She was very glad to be distracted by a hot bath, her first in a week, and relished the feeling of scrubbing the dirt from the road from her skin. She was bright red and rather tired by the time she left the bathing room, but allowed Helda to help her dress and fix her hair to appear before the court of the Middluns. Nerves pricked at her; Bitterblue had only ever appeared like this before the court of Ror City, where many of those present were her extended family in some form or another. She supposed she ought to be grateful for this experience, as she was set to do the same at the Dellian court in a year, and that was bound to be far more nerve-wracking.

Dressed in an elegantly embroidered black and gold gown with a low neck and empire waist, her hair partially in a large bun pinned to the back of her head and the rest tumbling down her shoulders, Bitterblue left her comfortable rooms and started toward the dining hall. Two of her Graced guards accompanied her, trailing a few steps behind her and looking terribly bored. She didn’t really blame them.

A massive set of doors stood shut before the hall, and she could hear the soft hum of voices and clinks of china behind it. Bitterblue waited impatiently as the steward threw open the doors to announce her arrival.

“Presenting,” the man called in a booming voice, “her Royal Majesty, Queen Bitterblue of Monsea.” The noises halted, and every person seated at the many tables stood; she was clearly the last to arrive. _Next to last,_ she thought as she started toward her seat at the highest table, _because Raffin has yet to arrive._ She spotted Giddon, seated among a few lords that she of course did not recognize, but that he clearly did. She thought one looked familiar; perhaps he was a friend of the Council. The man caught her looking at him and winked, and she realized one of his eyes was a dusty pink, while the other was the green of a forest canopy.

 ~*~

The morning after the Monsean party arrived in the Middluns, Bitterblue woke wrapped around Giddon, but feeling sick to her stomach. She groaned and rolled over, throwing the comforter off to relieve some of the heat she felt crawling up her neck and clambered to the corner of the room, where a wash basin stood with clear water. Splashing some on her face helped, but still she felt groggy and slow.

She fell back into bed, and slept until Helda roused her.

“You’ve missed lunch, Lady Queen,” she admonished, throwing open the curtains. Giddon had left at some point; Bitterblue was stretched horizontally across the bed, and covered in sweat.

“I don’t feel very good, Helda,” she rasped, watching the woman bustle about. This brought her to the queen’s side, ducking to place the back of her hand to Bitterblue’s clammy forehead.

“No, you certainly don’t,” Helda agreed, frowning down at her. “Perhaps you had best stay in bed today, Lady Queen. I’ll have a healer sent to you, and see if we can’t cut back on this fever.”

Bitterblue didn’t remember passing out again, but when her eyes opened, Helda was gone and Bann was there - and Raffin, she realized with a jolt. “Raff!” she cried, sitting up and regretting it immediately as the entire room seemed to tilt dangerously.

“Careful there, Bitterblue,” the future king of the Middluns said, coming to sit beside her on the bed and taking her small hand in one of his own long-fingered ones. “You’ve got quite a fever. Don’t overdo anything, alright?”

She struggled to sit up against the pillows nonetheless, as she seemed to have turned vertically on her bed again at some point. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, as that was the highest volume she could manage. “First time I see you in months and I must look an awful mess.” He frowned at her, smoothing the hair back from her forehead.

“You saw me at dinner last night,” Raffin reminded her, and it fell into place; yes, she _had_ seen him, and sat beside him and talked to him all throughout the meal. How had she forgotten? “It must be this fever of yours. They can make people hallucinate, or forget things.” Yes, that must be it - she must be more sick than she realized. As if reading her mind, Raffin pushed up, and Bann came over to lay a cool cloth over her forehead. “We’ll let you rest. Try to stay out from under the covers, and we’ll come back in a bit to see how you’re feeling, and if you’re up to some dinner.”

The two left, though Bitterblue scarcely noticed their sudden absence. She slipped in and out of consciousness for a while, darkened dreams in the corner of her mind trying to speak to her, but in her feverish haze, she made out very little.

When Bitterblue woke again, it was to sunlight streaming in steadily through the window. She was shocked to realize it was morning, and that she felt worlds better. She was just getting out of bed when Helda poked her head in the door.

“Goodness,” she said, coming all the way in the room. “Lady Queen, I’m so glad to see you awake. You look much better; your coloring has been all but gone the last two days.”

“The last two - ?!” Bitterblue rubbed her eyes, moaning. “It’s all very strange, Helda. My mind feels odd, but I do feel a lot better. I’d love a bath, though, I’m terribly sticky.”

“I’ve already drawn one for you, Lady Queen.” She followed Helda to the bathing room, finding herself once again ever so grateful for this woman who always took such care of her.

The bath was another length to helping her feel better, and she rose from it with a sigh, folding into a bathrobe and padding back to her room to dress. Giddon was there on her bed, looking over a paper until she entered, and then tucked it into his shirt and smiled. A bolt of lightning went through Bitterblue’s head, and she nearly dropped to the floor - she cried out, and Giddon was beside her, helping her to sit on the bed.

His hands pressed against her cheeks. “Bitterblue,” he was saying, his eyes searching hers. “Bitterblue, are you alright? Helda said you were feeling better, but you look queasy.”

She shook her head, the pain clearing away as quickly as it had come. “I’m fine,” she gasped, touching her own hand to her head. “I just had a sudden headache, I’m sorry. I’m fine now.” Giddon lowered his hands, looking somewhat doubtful, and smoothed a hand over her wet hair. “Helda said I’ve been out since the day before yesterday, is that true?”

Giddon nodded, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. “It is. We couldn’t rouse you at all yesterday, so we figured we would leave you to rest.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “It’s good to see you up again. Any idea where that fever came from? Were you feeling sick on the ride?”

She shook her head; she was just as confused as he was. “It set in so suddenly. I feel bad to have holed up in here for my first two days at court.”

“You know Raffin doesn’t mind. Bann came yesterday as well to put more ice on you; I think if you didn’t wake today, he and Raffin were going to put you in a tub of it.” Bitterblue shuddered at the thought, and Giddon laughed. “I’ll go hunt you down some breakfast, you must be starving.”

She realized she was, and then Giddon was gone. She made herself get up and don a simple blue dress, rubbing her hair dry with a soft towel and braiding it into two long plaits. When Giddon returned with breakfast, he sat with her at the dark wooden table in her small sitting room and nibbled at her food, while she unabashedly stuffed herself.

“Slow down!” he chuckled as she nearly choked on a muffin, swallowing it down quickly with juice and gasping. “You’ll make yourself sick, love.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes before there was a knock at the door, and Hava came in. Her face was creased with worry, but it slackened when she saw Bitterblue. “You look much better! You looked like a ghost yesterday, Bitterblue, I thought you were wasting away.” Her sister came over and kissed the top of her head, and Bitterblue smiled.

“All I needed was a little bacon, I think. I’m sorry I worried you all. What have you been doing?”

“Besides worrying? I took a really long, boring tour of the castle with Bann, I think he finds the different relics and historical pieces of the place a lot more interesting than I did, though I tried to pretend. Otherwise, I’ve been mulling about after Helda, and she got tired of me being underfoot, so I went into the city for a bit and just wandered around.” Hava flopped into an empty chair and helped herself to a piece of toast.

Bitterblue looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure what I’m to do now that I’m feeling better. I suppose I should go find Raffin, and see what I can do to help him.” Giddon nodded in agreement.

“I expect I’ll be joining you,” he said, brushing his palms together and standing up. “Raffin said there was something he wanted to talk to us about, but he wanted to wait until you were doing better, Bitterblue. So we’d better go and find him.” He looked sidelong at Hava, who put her hands up in a mollifying gesture and stood as well.

“Maybe I can convince Helda to try and teach me embroidery again… or take a nap.” She scarfed down a piece of Bitterblue’s bacon and bounded out of the room.

Together, Bitterblue and Giddon departed her rooms as well, meandering toward the part of the castle where the king’s apartments were. Giddon pointed out different things to her as they passed, and she remembered this was where he had spent most of his childhood apart from his family’s estates, and tried hard to pay attention. She imagined it must be difficult for him to be back here, after everything.

At Raffin’s door, Giddon rapped his knuckles against the wood and it opened almost immediately. The gangly man smiled down at them, opening the door wide to admit them both and closing it quickly behind.

“You look much better today, Blue,” he commented, putting a hand to Bitterblue’s forehead as if confirming. “And your fever has completely evaporated. It’s miraculous. I was worried you’d be out of it for weeks.”

She shook her head and beamed up at him. “I suppose I just needed the sleep.”

A look flashed across Raffin’s face and was gone in an instant - a horrible expression she couldn’t place, but if she had to name it… he looked terrified. “Well, we’re all thankful you’re doing better.” Disconcerted still, Bitterblue glanced around the room and took the two other people present; Bann and a man she didn’t recognize, finely dressed, but with the eyes of a Graceling, one an amber yellow and the other an eggshell white.

This Graceling dipped before her when her gaze fell on him. “Lady Queen,” he said in a soft voice, “it’s good to meet you at last, and that you have recovered from your illness.”

Bitterblue could only blink at the short man, thoroughly dwarfed beside Bann, and she looked at Raffin in confusion. He took pity on her and explained, “This is Wensel. He was in my father’s… employ before his death, and expressed that he preferred to remain even after the declaration that Gracelings no longer property of the crown.” He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “Wensel is an empath.” She must have looked alarmed, for he quickly added, “But he’s not the kind that just steals your thoughts, he just senses things like… your mood, the state of your mental and physical health, things like that. Not what’s actually going on in your mind.”

Sucking in a breath, Bitterblue looked back at Wensel, who stared back at her unwaveringly. “Lady Queen,” he said again, “there is no endeavor here to fool you, I assure you of that. I can feel your suspicion keenly, but I am loyal to King Raffin for his kindness, and you by extension, as his trusted friend.”

Raffin nodded sagely at her. “We can trust him. I keep him with me at all times these days, because his ability is almost similar to a friend of our’s. I thought you might want to join us for a walk.”

More confused than ever, her mind positively spinning, she took the arm Raffin offered her and allowed him to lead her, Bann, Giddon, and this strange new Graceling through the halls of the castle. Why would Raffin want to keep a Graceling like this with him at all times, if his Grace was similar to that of Po’s? What aspect of it was the same?

What was Raffin afraid of?

They were in the gardens behind the castle, and Bitterblue expected them to stop, but a small shake of the head from Wensel and Raffin kept walking. They walked until they reached a tiny, mostly unused gate in the back of the garden, flanked by two bored-looking guards who stood at attention upon the party’s approach.

“At ease, gentlemen,” Raffin said tiredly, and the two guards relaxed, one hurrying to open the gate for them. “We’ll be back soon; I just want to show the fields to Queen Bitterblue before lunch. Do make sure no one comes after us, as it will horribly ruin the mood.” The men saluted, and Raffin carefully led her through the small gate and kept her arm close to his side as they continued into grass that grew all the way up to Bitterblue’s waist.

She was almost about to start complaining about not having worn the right shoes for a hike when Wensel stopped walking, and Raffin finally did the same. Bitterblue released his arm and put her hands on her hips, glaring up at him.

“Raffin,” she said hotly, sweating in the summer heat, “what is this about? Why are we out in the middle of a field with your loyal mind reader?”

The expression she had seen earlier struck across Raffin’s face again, something wild and fearful in his eyes. “This is the only place we can talk without fear of being overheard, Bitterblue.” Raffin looked at Wensel, who bore the expression of a hound listening for movement, seeming almost unaware of the conversation. “Wensel’s ability is similar to Po’s in that he can sense when people are near. Out here, with him, we cannot be overheard, and we cannot be caught unawares.”

She was still hopelessly confused, and Giddon spoke her thoughts. “But why all the secrecy, Raffin? What could possibly have happened to make you this nervous?”

Raffin’s expression grew pained, and it was Bann who explained instead. “Randa’s sickness wasn’t natural. He was murdered.”


	7. Chapter 7

Bitterblue’s mind reeled. “Murdered? How do you know? Who could have orchestrated such an illness?”

“We’ve been doing some investigating,” Bann said softly, squeezing Raffin close to him as the expression on the king’s face grew more desolate. “With Wensel’s help, we’ve been able to find who we’re able to trust on the matter, he’s been invaluable in this. We believe there’s a Graceling…” Bann sighed, rubbing his hand up and down Raffin’s arm. “A Graceling who… absorbs the powers of other Gracelings.”

The silence that followed this explanation was profound. Bitterblue blinked at her companions, trying to wrap her head around the meaning of their words.

A Graceling who absorbed the power of other Gracelings… meaning what, exactly? Did he steal them one at a time, or crowd them all into himself? How could a single body handle more than one Grace?

She voiced her confusion, and Raffin shook his head. “We don’t know much beyond what we’ve told you now. I couldn’t even tell you the colors of his eyes, for one of the Graces he possesses allows him to adjust your short-term memory.” Raffin’s eyes settled on her. “But he is surely the reason you became so ill suddenly, and why you didn’t remember seeing me at dinner the night before. The shock of having your memory altered sent your body into a fit.”

Giddon was nodding slowly, seeming to follow everything easier than Bitterblue was. “So when you say Randa was murdered - perhaps this Graceling altered his memory so many times, he could no longer stand the strain of it?”

“That’s more or less what we’ve determined,” Bann agreed. “That, or he has a Grace that allows him to send a slow plague upon a victim. Randa’s condition grew steadily worse, hallucinations driving him out of his mind, and rants about nothing. It wasn’t an easy way to go.” Raffin sniffled, and Bann returned to rubbing his arm comfortingly.

Bitterblue felt her heart sinking. This kind of Grace was unheard of - she’d never even imagined the possibility of it. And it was terrifying, because the damage that could be done by this Graceling was endless. It was clear that whoever it was, they were no friend to the people of the seven kingdoms.  

“Why Randa, though?” she said after a moment, following her own line of thought. “Why would this Graceling focus on the king of the Middluns? It’s not like -” She paused, looking at Raffin. “He wasn’t - the most beloved of kings. Surely someone who deals in chaos would focus on Raffin, or perhaps Ror or even myself. It just doesn’t line up in my head.”

“There’s no explaining it,” Raffin said miserably. “I know my father was not a good man, but he was my father and now he’s gone. Knowing what I know, it’s my duty to find and punish whoever did this.”

Rubbing her eyes, Bitterblue grumbled, “I wish Katsa were here.”

“I don’t,” Giddon said almost immediately, and Bitterblue cut her eyes at him in a glare. “There’s a Graceling, absorbing the Graces of those around him, and you want to bring him into the presence of Katsa and Po, since they do always come as a matching set?” Giddon shook his head. “No, survival and another form of mind-reading are two of the last things we want this Graceling to have.”

Giddon was right, she realized, and she was suddenly grateful for their long trip. But a thought lodged in her mind, and she clutched her forehead as she tried to unravel it. “What is it, Bitterblue?” Giddon touched her arm, and she gasped.

“Hava,” she blurted, looking up at her friends. “She was following someone in my city a few weeks ago - a Graceling that knew where she was, even though she was disguised. And then he picked her up with no effort and tossed her into the Silver.”

“Pink and green,” Giddon breathed, catching on. “He had pink and green eyes. If he could tell Hava was there, and had the strength to toss her like that… that sounds like multiple Graces to me.”

Bitterblue grabbed Raffin’s arm, who was looking at them in awe. “But how does he absorb them? Do you have any idea?”

“If it’s something simple, like touch,” Bann said in a soft voice, “then he could already have Hava’s Grace. To hide in plain sight…”

Everyone’s faces were so distraught, she was sure they must mirror her own. None of their discoveries were ones to bring joy. She felt the despair of it in her stomach, taking root, as she imagined what kind of terror lurked in the halls of Raffin’s castle.

“I certainly hope he never shook my father’s hand.”

~*~

No one saw much of Raffin over the next few days. He was swamped constantly trying to prepare for the coronation, and when he showed up for dinner, he gulped down his food and went immediately to bed. Bitterblue could tell Bann was worried; they all were, because Raffin was basically running himself into the ground.

“Is there anything we can help with?” Bitterblue asked him one evening when he turned up for a meal, resting her hand on his arm. “Surely there are some tasks you could delegate to us.”

Raffin shook his head tiredly. “Bann is helping me some, but there’s really nothing else I can give to other people. I have a constant headache, and now isn’t the best time to have my hair turn blue.” He pressed his fingers into his eyes and sighed. “Once this ceremony is over, I’ll be able to rest.”

With little else to do but worry, Bitterblue steadily grew more stressed, the longer they stayed in the Middluns capital. Every time she thought about that Graceling, possibly lurking somewhere in the castle, her heart did a little dance in her chest. None of them saw any pink or green eyes anywhere in the castle or the city, but that didn’t mean the Graceling was gone. If he had Hava’s ability, he could be anywhere in the castle, and they would be none the wiser.

It wasn’t a comforting thought.

None of them could speak freely unless Wensel was with them, and the poor man was obviously growing very strained by the stress of it all. Bitterblue grew accustomed to his uneven gaze, so often trained unfocused on some corner of the room as he searched for any disturbances in the minds of those around them.

On the day before the coronation, she, Giddon, and Hava were lounging in one of the parlors of the castle, when Raffin and Wensel came upon them suddenly, the king dropping onto the sofa beside Giddon and looking around the room. Very quickly, the other nobles that were present cleared out, leaving only the five of them. Bitterblue closed the book resting in her lap and peered at the two, her head cocked to the side.

“He has Hava’s ability,” Raffin breathed. “He was in my council room today as a stool. Luckily we weren’t discussing anything much beyond the timing cues for the ceremony, but he was definitely there. Wensel could sense him loud and clear.” Hava looked ill, staring at Raffin in horror.

“He’s not here now, is he?” she whispered back, glancing at Wensel, who shook his head once. “What could he possibly want? You don’t think he’s trying to disrupt the coronation?”

Giddon frowned, leaning in to join the softly-spoken conversation. “I can’t imagine what his reasoning would be for that, could you? He killed off Randa - if he wanted to keep Raffin from becoming king, wouldn’t he just kill him too?”

“There’s no sense to it,” Raffin grunted, shoving his hand through his blonde hair and sending it in all directions, as he’d clearly done several times already that day. “None at all. The best we can do is continue to monitor it and be vigilant, and perhaps nothing else will happen.”

Bitterblue wasn’t sure she was happy about having their theory confirmed. She definitely wasn’t happy that this man had such a dangerous ability. But she supposed it was for the best that they know, and all of them took great pains to keep important things to themselves when not around Raffin’s mind reader.

The day of the coronation was unnervingly quiet. The ceremony came and went without a hitch, all the people and visiting royalty filing into the Grand Hall to witness Raffin officially become the King of the Middluns.

Bitterblue enjoyed the day, especially the massive banquet and ball that followed, but she spent the whole time waiting for something to happen, some problem to arise. The smile on her face grew painful and false by the evening, and she found herself sitting in a corner at a table by herself, with her head in her hands.

“What a beautiful ceremony,” a lovely voice said, startling her from her reverie. She sat up and blinked as she looked into the face of a man she knew she recognized, though it made her head hurt to try and recall when she’d seen him. His eyes met hers, one pink, and one green. Bitterblue thought she ought to do something, but she found herself transfixed as the man went on. “I’m so glad I was able to remain here and see it all go through. I did put a lot of work into making it happen. I’m sure you feel privileged to have been here for it as well. The king is one of your closest friends.”

It took a moment for Bitterblue to regain her attention. She ran a problem through her mind - six hundred and seventy-two into forty-two thousand three hundred thirty-six was sixty-three - and found it took her a moment to unravel it. There was something about this man’s voice.

“You… have a speaking Grace,” she said dumbly, her voice sounding foreign in her own ears. The man smiled, and she thought it suited him.

“I think you’ll find I have a great many Graces,” he said agreeably. “Though the one affecting you now is only a beautiful voice. It doesn’t give me power over your mind, as your father’s did.”

This statement snapped her out of it at once. Her eyebrows furrowed, but she knew better than to try and run from this Graceling. “Do not speak of my father as if you admire him,” she growled, “though I suppose you both are not that different, in your evil intents.”

She wasn’t sure, but Bitterblue thought the emotion that flashed across the man’s features was offense. “Evil intent? No, Lady Queen. What I seek is not ruin, but peace.” He smoothed his hand over his hair, and Bitterblue realized for the first time that it was a soft chestnut brown, and that the shade of his skin matched that of the Middluns. “Do you think that this kingdom was in good hands, under the control of King Randa? He was a harsh, selfish man, and I think we can all agree that the Middluns will thrive under its new leadership.” The man turned his eyes across the room to where Raffin stood chatting, surrounded by well-wishers.

“That isn’t your decision to make,” Bitterblue said, awed by the man’s monologue. “People cannot go around declaring themselves judge, jury, and executioner. That isn’t justice; it’s madness.”

He chuckled, and it was such a nice sound that Bitterblue almost found herself captivated again, though she forced herself to focus.

“Perhaps it is madness,” he said thoughtfully, nodding his head slowly like he was considering the notion. “But perhaps it is not. If you think real justice will be achieved by these corrupted kings, then perhaps you are the one who is mad.” He fell silent for a moment, then shrugged like he hadn’t a care. “But that’s not up to me. You’re kind, and you’ve done a lot for your people. I look forward to watching the progress of Monsea in the future. And don’t worry - I’ll let you remember me. I’m leaving the Middluns tonight anyways, so I expect it will be a long while before we see one another again. I hope you remain well, Lady Queen.”

It wasn’t until sometime later, when Giddon dropped into the seat beside her, that Bitterblue noticed the man had left.

“Not enjoying the party?” he asked, a slight lilt in his voice that made her think he’d been in the spirits. “What’s the matter, Bitterblue? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think perhaps I have,” she said slowly, her mind still running through the conversation. “I just met our Graceling.” She relayed the whole encounter to Giddon, who seemed to sober up the more she spoke.

“What an eccentric man,” Giddon said, amazed at the end of it all. “I’m thankful he didn’t hurt you, and seems to have no interest in you; but none of that explains what he did to Hava that night. Why was he even in Monsea?”

Bitterblue shook her head, her brain growing tired from trying to understand all of it. “I don’t know. He must think himself some kind of god, gallivanting around and dolling out divine punishments.” She reached over and took Giddon’s hand, needing his touch to keep her tethered. “We need to tell Raffin and Bann what I’ve learned tonight.” Glancing around the room, she spotted the two men, partially hidden among the other dancers, holding each other close while they spun slowly in a circle. She smiled, and leaned against Giddon.

“But I think it can wait until tomorrow.”


End file.
